


Get Connected

by AgentStannerShipper



Series: tumblr ficlets [73]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Computers, M/M, Social Media, aziraphale learns about the facebook
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 15:42:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18854068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentStannerShipper/pseuds/AgentStannerShipper
Summary: Crowley signs Aziraphale up for social media. Even if it's a slightly outdated one.





	Get Connected

**Author's Note:**

> For a prompt about tech-savvy Crowley helping Aziraphale catch up with the times. The actual suggestion was Instagram, but I am not on Instagram, so Facebook it is. I thought it was appropriate.

Aziraphale huffed and folded his arms, leaning back in the chair and frowning irritably at the screen. “I just don’t see the point.”

“The point, angel,” Crowley said, “is that it’s the twenty-first century. It will not kill you to use social media.” The demon was currently standing over Aziraphale, pressed against the angel’s back, an arm on either side of him as he clicked away at Aziraphale’s ancient computer. Well, ancient by Crowley’s standards: he’d gifted Aziraphale a new one about ten years ago, much less bulky than the original goliath he’d owned, and Aziraphale had not updated it since. Crowley only had an ultra slim ‘business’ laptop for the look of the thing, preferring to do everything through his smartphone, but he’d never managed to get Aziraphale beyond a flip phone so computer it was.

“It hardly seems necessary.”

Crowley clicked onto the next screen and glanced at the angel. “Relax,” he said. “Be glad I’m not trying to sign you up for Instagram or Twitter.” He gestured at the Facebook login screen with a flourish. “This is _old people_ social media, angel. Perfect for you.”

“I resent that,” Aziraphale said, although with slightly less rancour. He peered at the screen with a little more interest. “So, I just…fill in these little boxes and the computer does the rest?”

“Yep.” Crowley paused. “You do have an email account, right?”

Aziraphale scoffed. “Of course. I use it to keep in touch with Miss Anathema. And with other specialists in my trade, of course.”

Crowley straightened up and grinned. “Well, think about how many more specialists you can keep in contact with by following them on social media.”

“Do you think?”

Crowley nodded sagely. “Oh, sure. Loads.”

Aziraphale began filling out the information, using the name and age currently on all his paperwork. Idly, he asked, “Do you have a Facebook, my dear?”

“I do.” He never used it, but he hadn’t wanted to delete the account in case the angel had ever come around. “We can be friends.”

“I rather hope we’re more than friends at this point,” Aziraphale pointed out.

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Facebook friends, angel. It’s how people follow each other.”

“I see.” Aziraphale hit the sign up button, and blinked when it brought him to the next page. “Crowley, it wants me to fill more things in.”

Crowley rested his chin on Aziraphale’s shoulder, draping himself over the angel. “That’s just extra stuff,” he said. “Gender, relationship status, profile photo, that sort of thing.”

Aziraphale frowned at the options. Tentatively, he selected male, and then turned to the relationship status. “Should I put ‘it’s complicated’?”

Crowley winced. “Please don’t.”

“Why not? Our relationship is complicated. It’s not accurate to simply say we are dating or married, and we certainly aren’t single.”

“Yeah, but…” Crowley nosed at the angel’s cheek. “’It’s complicated’ means you’re kind-of-sort-of not in a relationship at all, really.” He kissed the corner of Aziraphale’s lips. “And we most certainly are.”

“I see. What do you have on your Facebook, then?”

“I said we’re married.” He glanced worriedly at Aziraphale. “That’s alright, isn’t it?”

“Quite alright.” Aziraphale smiled and clicked the button. He filled out a few more bubbles, and then stopped on the profile photo and banner. “I don’t think I have any personal photographs. Should I just put something generic?”

“Nah, hang on.” Crowley fished his phone out of his pocket and hopped up on the desk, propping his feet on Aziraphale’s chair. He flicked through his album, and then sent two to an email account his own disused one barely remembered. “I’ve sent a couple pictures to your email. Let me know what you think.”

Aziraphale opened a new tab and drew up his email with surprising ease. Crowley was impressed. Apparently, it wasn’t the technology that Aziraphale struggled with, just the application. Aziraphale clicked onto the email and stared. He looked at the photos, then back at Crowley. “When did you…?”

Crowley grinned. “I take lots of photos of you, angel. That way I can look at you when you’re not around.”

The profile photo he’d selected was from a few months ago at St. James’s Park. The sun had hit Aziraphale’s hair just right, giving him a beautiful halo of light that Crowley had though too ironic (and stunning) not to capture. Aziraphale was grinning in the picture, his eyes shining. He had, if Crowley remembered correctly, been expounding on a rare new edition he’d just gotten in. He was gorgeous.

Aziraphale looked at the other one. “This is you, isn’t it?” he said. As if he could ever confuse Crowley for any other snake.

“It’s the bookshop, too,” Crowley pointed out. In the picture, he was draped in serpentine form over a pile of prophecy books, some open to random pages. “So it works.”

“How did you manage to take it?”

“Carefully.” Thank _someone_ for phone camera timers.

With a little assistance, Aziraphale managed to transfer the images from his email to his Facebook profile. He looked at Crowley. “Now what?”

Crowley opened his app. “Hang on. I’m sending you a friend request.” It popped up on the screen with a ping. “Now hit accept.”

Aziraphale did. “Is that all?”

“That’s pretty much it,” Crowley said. “You can make posts, if you like, or look for other people.”

“What would I post about?”

“I dunno,” Crowley shrugged. “Book covers? Old memes?”

“What’s a meme?”

“Never mind.”

Aziraphale clicked curiously onto Crowley’s account and shot him a sappy grin. “Oh, my darling. Your profile picture is both of us?”

“Yeah, well,” Crowley mumbled. “You didn’t have an account.”

“It’s sweet.”

“It’s not a big deal.” His banner was him sprawled across the hood of the Bentley. He’d figured at least one of the photos should have his husband in it.

He slid into Aziraphale’s lap and wrapped his arms around the angel’s shoulders. “There you go,” he said, grinning. “You’re on social media now. Even if it is just Facebook.”

“Are you pleased?”

“I am.”

“Good.” Aziraphale leaned in and kissed him.

Crowley would ignore most of Aziraphale’s Facebook posts after that; the angel still didn’t seem to have a grasp of what the point of Facebook was, and more often than not his posts were nonsense. But he also sometimes posted things like “My husband looks beautiful today” and “Sometimes I think I don’t have the capacity for any more love in my being. Then I look at him and realize love is infinite.” They were the sort of cheesy, corny things a middle-aged mother might post, but still. You had to smile. And Crowley did.


End file.
